With that she seized my valise with one hand, and, carrying the can of water in the other, escorted me to one of the front rooms. It was an improvement on the back room only because it had more windows to admit the air and light. I put in a word for the Major, which I hoped would be carried to the ears of the daughter. “The Major gave me that room because he wanted to treat me as if I were one of the home folks. Now you’ve brought me here, and I’ll feel as uncomfortable as if I were company, sure enough.” “Dey’s sump’n in dat, I ’speck,” replied Aunt Minervy Ann, laughing; “but, lawsy, massy! you done been in dis house too much ter talk dat-a-way. When kin folks come home, we allus gin um de bes’ dey is fer de fus’ week er so. Atter dat dey kin rustle ’roun’ fer deyse’f.” It is hardly necessary to say that Aunt Minervy Ann took very good care that I should want for none of those little attentions that sharpen the appreciation of a guest; and, in her case, obtrusiveness was not a fault, for her intentions shone clearly and unmistakably through it all. [Illustration: “Miss Vallie!”] Major Perdue had the art of entertainment at his fingers’ ends, which, though it is very simple, not one man in a hundred learns. It is the knack of leaving the guest to his own devices without seeming to do so. Most fortunate in his gifts is the host who knows how to temper his attentions! In his efforts to get the fair under way, Paul Conant found it impossible to come to dinner, but sent his apologies. “You’ll think it is a mighty small concern when you see it,” said the Major, “but it takes all that Paul can do to keep it from getting into a tangle. He has to be here, there, and everywhere, and there hasn’t been a minute for a week or more but what forty people were hollering at him at once, and forty more pulling and hauling him about. If he wasn’t a steam-engine, he couldn’t hold out half an hour.” “Well, he’ll soon straighten matters out,” said I, “and then they’ll stay so.” “That’s so,” remarked the Major; “but when that’s done, he’ll have to rush around from post to pillar to keep ’em straight.” “Did he seem to be greatly worried?” Valentine asked. “No-o-o-o,” replied the Major, slowly and hesitatingly, “but I’m afear’d his shoulder has begun to trouble him again.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling, apparently lost in thought. “Why should you think that, father?” “Once or twice, whilst he was rustling about I saw him fling his hand to his shoulder and hold it there, and I’m mightily afear’d it’s hurting him.” The Major drew a deep sigh as he spoke, and silence fell on all. It was brief, but it was long enough for one to know that an unpleasant subject had been touched on—that there was something more behind it all than a pain in Conant’s shoulder. Aunt Minervy Ann, who was equal to every emergency, created a diversion with the baby, and the Major soon pulled himself together.